


so soft it twirls

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Frottage, Hair, Hair-pulling, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-12
Updated: 2012-06-12
Packaged: 2017-11-10 17:41:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/468949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Maybe it has something to do with how </i>pretty<i> Harry's hair is, how it's basically his trademark, the way people distinguish between Harry and the others if they don't know the band that well. And it's something Louis has always loved in such an innocent way, and there's something about making it sexual that feels dirty and wrong in a way that really gets him off.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	so soft it twirls

**Author's Note:**

> This is kind of inspired by a combination of like, four different prompts on the kink meme. And also just by Harry's stupid hair in general. Title from Animal Collective's 'Bluish'.

Louis has always liked Harry's hair. He likes the soft feel of it, the way he can wind the curls around his fingers, the way it tickles against his skin. The smell of it is nice, too—the fresh, clean scent of his usual shampoo or something a little more sharp and musky if he hasn't showered, something uniquely Harry. Louis likes to press his nose to the very top of Harry's forehead, sometimes, just where his parting begins, because that's where the smell is best. Harry teases him for that, says his cat does the same thing and that it has something to do with pheromones, which makes Louis feel a bit like an animal.

Mostly, though, he likes to touch it, and the best part of that is the reaction he gets. Harry really loves it when people play with his hair. He loves when people run their fingers through it, when they ruffle it, even when they gently scratch at his head with their fingertips like he's a dog or something. He just relaxes completely, leaning into the touch and smiling all soft and sleepy. Sometimes he won't be in the mood and he'll shove people off, duck his head out of the way to avoid it, but he never does that with Louis. Whenever Louis's fingers find their way into his curls, he lets them.

It's never been a sexual thing, though, at least not for Louis. It's more about comfort, intimacy. It's only when they start having sex that it even occurs to him that Harry might like it _that_ way. Sometimes Louis will run his fingers through Harry's hair while they're fucking, or lean in close and nuzzle into it to inhale his smell, and Harry will sigh all heavy, his smile wide and content like Louis's making him feel even better by doing that, increasing the pleasure all over.

One night after they've just had sex and they're cuddling, Louis asks about it, because he always asks about these things; the two of them don't tend to keep things from each other. They're side by side in bed, Harry snuggled up under Louis's arm, and Louis is lazily toying with Harry's curls.

"Is this like, a thing for you?" he asks, twirling one little spiral around his finger and then letting it go.

"What?" Harry is tranquil, maybe on the edge of sleep already, and it takes him a few seconds to understand the question. Louis is just starting to get impatient enough to clarify when Harry starts talking again. "Oh, the—hair thing? Yeah, like—" he clears his throat, "kind of. I mean like—no, not really, like—this is just _nice_ , you know? Like, relaxing. So like _this_ isn't really the thing..."

Louis frowns, getting a little frustrated with the way Harry's stumbling over his words. "Spit it out, Hazza," he says teasingly, giving his hair a sharp little tug in an attempt to get him to pull himself together.

It pretty much has the exact opposite effect, because Harry _falls apart_ , letting out a soft whine and pressing closer to Louis, and some kind of change comes over him like someone's flipped a switch. This isn't like how he reacts when people pet his hair, when he goes all limp and pliant, this is—something else. Harry is gazing up at him, eyes dark and heavy-lidded, his breathing coming faster.

"Oh, I see," says Louis, not liking the way his voice shakes a little, but he's caught off-guard by it, the intensity of Harry's reaction. "That's the thing?"

"Mm, Lou, do it again?" Harry asks, shameless, and Louis can't exactly resist, immediately tangling his fingers back in those curls and pulling, a little harder this time.

Harry whines again, loud now, and this time his body goes taut. 

"Interesting," says Louis, and he's already so busy thinking about all the ways he could play with this, the things he could do with this new information, that he almost misses Harry murmuring something under his breath. "What was that?"

"Lou," Harry whimpers, curling into him, and Louis realises how _hard_ he is, then, his cock suddenly firm and hot under the covers, nudging against Louis. "Want you to fuck me."

"I already did that, darling," Louis says, enjoying this, "'bout ten minutes ago in fact, did you forget already?"

Harry makes a frustrated noise, and Louis takes pity on him, slotting his own leg between both of Harry's, so that Harry's dick rests against his thigh. Harry immediately makes a little noise of gratitude and actually starts rutting against him, and Louis is overwhelmed by how desperate he got so quickly, just from one small thing.

" _Really?_ " Louis asks mockingly, but Harry's too far gone to even be ashamed, just rocking his hips clumsily back and forth so his cock pushes along Louis's thigh, staring into Louis's eyes almost pleadingly. That look is what gets Louis hard, filling up quickly against Harry's stomach, and his voice is more gentle now when he says, "You want me to do it again?"

It's not like Louis actually needs prompting; he's dying to see that reaction over and over, but he also wants to see if he can make Harry ask for it. Beg for it.

But "Mhm," is all Harry can manage, along with an eager nod, and Louis reaches around again, this time tangling just a few curls around his fingers and yanking, so the pain is more focused and sharp. Harry cries out and for a split-second Louis thinks he's gone too far—but then Harry is rubbing against his leg even faster, the bucking of his hips more erratic now, as he gazes into Louis's eyes with his pupils full-blown. 

Louis does it again, right away without giving him much of a chance to recover, pulling so hard that Harry's head is forced back, and takes the opportunity to duck in and kiss his throat. He can't leave a mark there (no matter how badly he wants to) because they've got a busy week ahead of them, but he sucks gently, grazing his teeth against the skin as he keeps Harry's head held back with the grip on his hair. Harry is making these desperate little noises and as he shoves his hips forward for more friction, Louis's fingers slip from the soft curls and he shifts his own hips, pressing his cock against the firm plane of Harry's stomach and giving up on trying to appear aloof and unaffected by this.

They writhe clumsily against each other, rhythmless, Louis tugging at Harry's hair whenever he can gather the coordination to do so, and when he grabs a rough handful just above Harry's ear and hauls his head to the side, that's when Harry comes, with a choked yelp, spurting wet over Louis's thigh and then dropping his head to pant hot into his shoulder. Louis drags him back up by his hair, sees how pink Harry's cheeks are and how he's shuddering weakly from the aftershocks and that's what makes Louis lose it, gasping sharply as he slicks Harry's stomach.

They come down, hot and sticky. Harry kisses Louis lazily, breathes something against his mouth that sounds like "thank you," and Louis runs his fingers through Harry's hair again but not to pull or yank this time, just to stroke and soothe. Harry sighs happily, snuggling against him, and Louis feels the sore heat of his scalp and tries not to put too much pressure on it, just gently moving his fingers through the strands. 

"We should clean up," he whispers after a little while, because he can feel Harry starting to doze off against him and they're going to wake up stuck together at this rate.

"Mmm," Harry mumbles, nuzzling closer. "Yeah. In a minute."

***

After that, Louis kind of can't resist just pulling on Harry's hair all the time. It's like some kind of instant button to turn Harry on and he can't get over it, how it'll rev Harry up so fast and easy, how he'll be raring to go in mere seconds after a simple tug of his curls. Louis kind of wonders how none of them ever realised this before, but then, they've never really been rough with his hair, it's just never occurred to them. So it might look a little strange to the others that Louis is doing it regularly now, just for the thrill of Harry's reaction when they're in public, the way he'll get so flustered and have to try hold back his moan. He'll be on Louis as soon as they're alone together, begging him to do it again and to follow through. 

It's just a natural progression, really, after that. A matter of experimentation. It just makes sense for Louis to start pulling on it when Harry is sucking him off. He'll thread his fingers through Harry's curls, both hands in his hair, and guide him on and off of his cock that way, dragging his head back and then pushing it down, filling his mouth back up, fingers twining tight around the strands and not letting go. If they're short on time he'll jerk Harry off with one hand round his dick and the other in his hair, yanking his head right back and pulling as hard as he dares, keeping Harry's neck outstretched, his throat long and pale and exposed for Louis to nip and kiss at.

When Louis rides Harry he likes to see how far he can lift Harry's head up off the pillow, raking his fingers through his hair and taking hold, pulling up _hard_. Harry has to strain, then, gritting his teeth, his face going red as Louis grinds down against him, taking him deep. And when he fucks Harry it's almost always doggystyle now, so that he can pull Harry's head right back towards him, get him staring at the ceiling. The first time they try that Louis can't help wondering why they never did it before; it feels so _good_ to grab a messy handful of Harry's curls and wrench his head back, to use them as _reins_ almost as he fucks him, holding on tight as his hips piston and he pounds into Harry until Harry is crying out and shaking and coming all over the bed and his own belly, cock completely untouched.

Harry's hair might not have been particularly sexual to Louis before but now—now it's really fucking _distracting_ , because whenever he sees it he just thinks about the ways he can get Harry to react by touching it in different ways. He might—maybe—get a little bit obsessed. 

Which is a bit of a problem, because he always used to touch Harry's hair a lot anyway, playing with it absentmindedly or ruffling it in a manner almost like that of an older brother. Now it's not like that at all. And now he's fixated on how it _looks_ all the time, the way the curls will be almost like ringlets if Harry's let it air-dry after his shower and hasn't brushed it, and Louis will want to tease it, feel those curls coil around the length of each of his fingers. Sometimes Harry will comb it or towel dry it more and it'll be more flat, fringe sweeping across his forehead sort of haphazardly, and Louis will want to toy with the messy ends that flick out, stroke at the softer strands at the nape of his neck. 

Sometimes it's just plain _messy_ , when he hasn't washed it for a little while and the only upkeep has been in the form of him running his fingers through it, shaking it out. That's what really drives Louis crazy, because it reminds him of how it looks after sex, all mussed and sweaty, his skin hot against Louis's fingers as he looks up through his tangled fringe into Louis's eyes. It makes him want to try neaten it up just so he can focus, concentrate on what the interviewer is saying rather than think about Harry all flushed and sated, lips red and parted, hair a damp dark halo around his head.

But he can't. He touches Harry in public enough already, he's aware of that, and it's probably suspicious enough as it is without him actually _grooming_ Harry in front of the cameras. So he finds himself muttering to Harry to fix it, sometimes just mumbling that he's not happy with it, and thankfully Harry will listen and do his silly signature little head shake which admittedly doesn't do much to make it neater, but at least changes it a little and gets Louis to stop thinking about sex for about the next fifteen minutes.

In private Louis loves it when it looks like that, particularly if he's the cause. He doesn't know _why_ , there's just something about making it all messy and snarled, and _sore_ at the roots, that gets him hot. He begs for Harry to leave it for a while, likes surveying his handiwork. There's a little part of him that's pleased with himself when Harry has to spend a bit of extra time combing out tangles and knots later, though he always ends up helping him, tutting a fond "useless" and snatching the brush out of Harry's hand to take over. It feels just as good as roughing him up, taking care of him after—stroking and petting at him, kissing him where it hurts, undoing the mess he's made.

***

Maybe it has something to do with how _pretty_ Harry's hair is, how it's basically his trademark, the way people distinguish between Harry and the others if they don't know the band that well. And it's something Louis has always loved in such an innocent way, and there's something about making it sexual that feels dirty and wrong in a way that really gets him off. 

He never thought of it quite like _this_ , though, not until tonight. 

They've been making out in bed, both naked, and when Louis tries to push Harry's head south Harry drags Louis down the bed instead, sits him at the foot of it and then drops to the floor in front of him. There's something about the position that gets Louis harder, seeing Harry staring up at him like that. His hair is hanging in his eyes, already damp with sweat, and Louis scrapes it back, Harry tilting his head instinctively with the movement.

"You wanna suck me off?" Louis asks, holding Harry's head there, his fingers carding through his curls.

"Yeah," Harry breathes.

Louis takes his cock in his other hand, curling his fingers loosely round the base, and he sees Harry swallow, his Adam's apple bobbing in his outstretched throat. Louis guides his cock towards Harry's mouth, still keeping his head tipped back at an uncomfortable angle so that Harry has to lick out as Louis gently presses his cock to Harry's lips. He tugs his head back a little further just to watch Harry struggle and hear him moan, and then he relents, letting go. Harry is breathing heavy, shuffling closer, parting his lips and taking Louis in, so eager that he's a little sloppy, hollowing his cheeks and sucking and making Louis grab for his hair again just for something to hold onto.

He guides Harry a little like usual, a hand on either side of his head, fingers tangled in his hair and pulling him off in a long drag that makes Harry wince and gasp, and then easing him back down, fingers rubbing into his scalp to soothe him, make him relax and breathe through his nose and take Louis's cock deeper. And Louis isn't sure what it is, exactly, that makes him think of it in that moment, but all of a sudden he's struck by the urge to replace his fingers with his cock, to know what Harry's soft curls would feel like against that tender, hot, sensitive skin. He pulls Harry off rather abruptly, and Harry gulps and looks up at him, expectant and so aroused, his cheeks flushed and his eyes wild.

"I want—" says Louis, but isn't sure how to phrase it. He takes his cock back in his hand, cupping it loosely in his fist, and he wants to pull Harry closer, slide his shaft along Harry's cheek and right into his hair but he doesn't want to do it without permission.

He doesn't even have to ask, though. Harry is on his wavelength, always, completely—he ducks down to get Louis to loosen his grip on his curls a little, and then nudges against Louis's cock with his head, and Louis feels the slight prickle of his hair and swears under his breath. "Yeah," he says, knowing instantly that this is what he wants, "yeah?"

"Yeah," Harry nods, and he's got his hand on himself, working so quick over his length that Louis can hear the slick sound of it.

Harry dips lower, letting Louis push his cock through the tangle of Harry's curls right to the crown of his head, and it feels—strange, not like anything else, really. The texture is so different, almost tickly until he increases the pressure and then it's good, so good. He gets the silky-soft curls all damp and matted with his pre-come, and just that, just dirtying them like that feels so good he immediately knows this isn't going to last long. 

Harry ducks his head even lower and Louis starts when he feels Harry gently lapping at his balls. Harry's tilted his head sideways so that his curls still play against Louis's cock with every movement he makes, and Louis presses the flat of his palm to his shaft, stroking, feeling Harry everywhere, his soft tongue and the slight roughness of his hair and he's so close, his hips thrusting, and Harry can tell.

"Go on," Harry implores, voice low.

The feel of his breath makes Louis tingle and the encouragement pushes him over the edge; his hips buck once more and he draws them back sharply so that when he comes, he spills into Harry's hair, splashing stark white into the dark curls. Harry moans even louder than Louis, nudging up against his cock as Louis works the rest of it out with a tight fist, the last drops spattering hot into Harry's fringe.

"Fuck," Louis says shakily. It takes him a good few moments to catch his breath, and then he loses it again when Harry straightens up and grins. He looks so cheeky and fucked-out, with Louis's _come_ in his hair, and that's when Louis realises that Harry came too, brought himself off while Louis was— _defiling_ him like that. His tummy and hand are shining wet. "God," says Louis in a small voice, "I didn't even know I wanted that."

"I did," says Harry happily, and he reaches up to touch, patting gently at the wetness in his curls, and god, he seems so fucking thrilled about something that should really just be degrading, and Louis can't cope.

"We shouldn't let it dry," he says, trying to get a handle on this, "want me to wash it out for you?"

And there's no way Harry's going to turn up an offer like that, so they get up, wobbly-legged, and head into the bathroom. Harry clambers into the tub and sits sideways in it, and Louis kneels on the bathmat holding the showerhead over him. He gently cleans Harry's hair, setting the shower down so he can work the shampoo into Harry's wet curls with both hands, fingers rubbing at his scalp and making Harry moan happily and go boneless. 

He washes it more thoroughly than he perhaps needs to, actually, soaping it up three times with the shampoo and then gently smoothing the conditioner right through to the ends, but Harry is hardly complaining, sleepy and satisfied under the hot water and Louis's dexterous fingers. And this is definitely what Louis likes best, he's sure of it now—it's all about making a mess of Harry, and then fixing him up again.


End file.
